Revised Story of the Three Little Pigs -Or- What Happened to a Yurt in the Mountains

Once upon a time, there were two little pigs. One lived in the City and one lived in the Mountains. The City pig met the Mountains pig, and they fell in love and set out to seek their fortune.

On their way, they met a man selling canvass. They asked the man if they could buy some to make a home. He gladly sold them some, and they found a beautiful mountain spot to build their yurt.

The two little pigs lived quite happily in their snug little yurt in the mountains. They married and had three beautiful piglets. Years passed by in a flurry of snow and mud and sun.

Then, two years of drought came to the mountains. The bears that lived in the woods surrounding the pig family’s yurt started to get quite ravenous. One bear in particular named Sir Richard the Third (he had a brown patch on his back that looked a bit like a hump) had his eye on the yurt and the good smells wafting from within.

Sir Richard boldly approached the yurt and scratched at the door. “Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in.” The little pigs inside all cried out “Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.” The bear growled and said “then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blooooow your house in.”

Before Sir Richard could raise a paw or fill his lungs, the little pigs opened up the yurt door wide to let their big dog out to bark at Sir Richard until the bear ran away into the woods.

Sir Richard, however, kept his eye on the yurt. One day, he saw the pig family pack up their car and their pesky dog and head for the City. Sir Richard took his chance. He ambled up to the yurt and knocked on the door, saying in a quiet voice “little pigs, little pigs, let me come in.”

As he had anticipated, Sir Richard was met with beautiful silence. No hairy chins, no dogs, only food. Sir Richard mumbled to himself “then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll bloooooow your yurt in.”

Sir Richard moved from the solid wooden door to the kitchen wall from whence the good smells emanated. He proceeded to claw and rip and tear asunder the canvas and wood lattice and insulation and bolts until he had access to gastronomic delights he had heretofore been unaware of.

Sir Richard ate his fill and ambled away into the woods, fully intending upon returning to the little pigs’ yurt for a second course on the next day.

On that day, the little pig family, and their big dog, returned home from the City. The hair on their chinny chin chins drooped. Their jaws fell to the ground. Their beady little eyes rolled about in their sockets. Groans issued from their snouts. Their dog sniffed madly and thought “somebody has been eating my food.” (Or was that a different story about bears?)

The little pigs took a deep breath and set about tidying the bear’s mess. Armed with brooms and mops and tarps and duct tape they cleaned the broken glass and spilled food. They affixed tarps on the walls to keep out the wind and rain and bugs. The little pigs obtained loud blow horns and spilled nasty smelling bleach around their yurt.

Then the little pigs waited.

They didn’t wait long. Soon enough, Sir Richard, intent upon a second meal, approached the yurt. He noticed the car and the smell of dog. He noticed the awful smell of bleach burning at his nose. But he knew he had left some cocoa powder and honey for a Sunday snack, plus he could only guess as to the delights contained in the mysterious white refrigerator, so he persisted on his course.

Sir Richard again scratched at the little pigs’ front door, “Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in.” The little pigs cried out with one voice: “Not by the hairs of our chinny chin chins.” Sir Richard snorted. “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blooooooow your yurt in.”

One little piggy hand reached out with an air horn and rudely blew directly into Sir Richard’s ear. He did not like that one bit. Sir Richard turned and withdrew a few feet, enough for the little pigs’ dog to move in and bark ferociously between Sir Richard and his yummy prize. Slowly, Sir Richard gave up on his late afternoon snack. He eventually gave up on his early evening snack too. And his late evening snack. And his midnight snack. And his crack of dawn snack.

Four nights later, the little pigs wondered if Sir Richard would be their nightly companion. They wondered if they would ever be able to sleep through the night again. And then Sir Richard stopped dropping by. Was it the bleach? Was it the empty humming bird feeders? Was it the dog? Was it the rude air horn? Was it the bear trap enticing him to new, greener pastures?

The little pigs may never know. But now they are looking for a brick seller.

The end.